Mike Perry

Welrod: The Clandestine Killer

Great Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE), the unit tasked with conducting behind-the-lines missions against the Axis powers during World War II, invented many unique and deadly items for its jobs by utilizing specialists who worked night and day in a mansion called The Frythe near the town of Welwyn Garden City. To those in the know however, the innocent-looking house had another name, one never spoken of in public and only in hushed whispers in private . . . Station Nine.

Within its walls, Station Nine saw many dirty tricks concocted into reality and sent with agents or airdropped to resistance forces behind enemy lines. Most had only one purpose, to inflict death on the enemy. And one of these, it just so happens, not only managed to stand out but also withstood the test of time and remains possibly the best of its kind ever invented.

Called the Welrod, the weapon seemed to look like a collection of parts slapped together for some unknown function. That was only until one looked past its crude appearance and realized it was a pistol meant for silent killing. It was, in fact, the best of the war. The perfect assassin’s gun, it found its place in the shadows of clandestine warfare not only during World War II but also well beyond that.

Designed by major Hugh Reeves, the Welrod took its name from a desire of Station Nine to use the first three words of Welwyn when producing items. Reeves first drew up plans for an integrally silenced pistol caliber gun in the early 1940s and produced a weapon that essentially looked like a short tube with a grip beneath it. The barrel was contained in the tube and had ports to bleed off gas to slow rounds to subsonic speed. It was primarily a 9mm caliber, though there would be a smaller number of .32 caliber units produced as well.

Operating the gun was simple, and the user pulled, pushed, and turned a knurled knob at the rear to manually load each round and then press the trigger—simply a piece of sheet metal turned down to place a finger on. The web of the hand pressed a safety against the grip. This served as a detachable single stack magazine that, depending on the model, carried six 9mm (Mk.1) or eight .32 caliber (Mk.2) rounds.

In terms of physical characteristics, the weapon was 1.25 inches around its tube and 12 inches long and had an unloaded weight of 2 pounds. The simple front and rear sights were marked with fluorescent paint for use in low light. Its maximum range was reported to be 23 meters, but it was never intended to be used at that distance. This was a gun meant for arm’s length or pressed against the torso encounters. For the latter, the muzzle was cut back and caused a discharging round, already quiet at 73 decibels, to be even more so when pressed against clothing.

Before production, SOE gave orders that the pistol be “sanitized,” meaning no markings whatsoever were to be used to allow the gun to be traced. Thousands rolled off different assembly lines, and it is known that the Birmingham Small Arms Company (BSA) produced at least 2,800 hundred of them. They joined the others in the service of not just the SOE but also the United States OSS and various resistance organizations throughout Europe, especially Denmark.

This pistol proved so efficient—almost no gun could be found that was quieter—that when the war ended, Great Britain and the United States continued using it abroad. For Britain, its notable use was in places such as Northern Ireland, the 1982 Falklands War, and 1991’s Desert Storm by the SAS. For the United States, it was used in Korea by the CIA and in Vietnam by the CIA, Green Berets and Navy SEALs in everything from Phoenix program assassinations to the removal of sentries, guard dogs, and geese. It likely remains in the inventory of the SAS but its existence won’t be admitted to, as it is still classified as it was in WWII.

The Lions Of Crete

Bloodless operations against an enemy during wartime are some of the most extreme and difficult acts that a nation can carry out. And the reasons are often simple. Such undertakings often border between fantasy and the impossible. It must involve surprise in every sense of the word, absolute secrecy, and nine times out of ten, the use of a few individuals, often numbering less than the fingers on a hand, to carry them out.

As early Winter 1944 passed in Cairo, Egypt such a plan was proposed by British Special Operations Executive (S.O.E.) agents Major Patrick Leigh Fermor and Captain William Stanley Moss. S.O.E. was a cross between special operations and an intelligence agency which supplied operatives throughout combat theaters to aid resistance groups in fighting the enemy.

An organization known for daring, hearing Fermor and Moss’s presentation must surely have raised a few eyebrows, because what they intended to do bordered on suicidal. It would take place on the island of Crete, under German control since May of 1941, after a massive but costly airborne landing defeated British and Commonwealth forces.

From the beginning, several endeavors were undertaken to help the people of Crete resist, but these often met with reprisals. To be sure, this operation was to be one more effort in helping the people of Crete resist the German occupation, but with one difference: the goal was that there would be no reprisals against civilians for success, as every bit of it would point to the British. It would be needed, because what they were planning on was practically unheard of up to that point, and succeeding would almost certainly cause the Germans to lust for revenge.

They were going to kidnap a German General.

Not just any General, but the commander of the island itself, one General Freidrich-Wilhelm Muller, an officer with a reputation for brutality against Crete’s populace. If successful, not only would they gain valuable intelligence from his interrogation, but it would also provide a tremendous boost to the morale of the population at large, and the resistance movement on the island. As well, it could alarm other German generals wherever they may be throughout other occupied countries, making them look twice over their shoulders, giving them a feeling of vulnerability no matter how many guards they had.

Moss and Fermor in German Military Police UniformsMoss and Fermor in German Military Police uniforms

If they were able to plot the general’s movements, Fermor felt confident the plan could succeed. And perhaps there was no better man to lead the effort than he. An adventurer who walked the length of Europe at 18, he was well versed in several cultures, had seen combat before the war in Macedonia against a revolt, and spoke Greek like a native. After the war began, he was stationed in Albania and fought in Crete and Greece. Upon joining the S.O.E., he returned three times to live among the population of Crete, as part of a selective few given the task of supporting the resistance movement. To see it through, he lived disguised as a shepard in the mountains for over two years while these efforts were underway. So his offering to lead the operation brought considerable clout.

S.O.E. approved the plan, and Fermor finalized the details. His intention was to parachute into Crete in the dark with Moss and two Cretan S.O.E agents, Georgios Tyrakis and Emmanouil Paterakis. They would link up with the resistance and find the right moment and place to snatch Muller. This would take time, and the agents expected to be on Crete for weeks, thus making secrecy paramount.

Could there be double-crossers in the resistance? This they did not know. Fermor suspected not. But no matter anyway, as they knew the risks, and remained dedicated to its end.

At an airfield outside Cairo, on the evening of February 4, the team boarded their plane and lifted off for Crete. The flight was droning and monotonous until they reached Crete, where heavy clouds obscured the drop zone. Fermor went ahead and jumped, but the others remained aboard waiting for a break. It never came. Low on fuel, the plane had to head back to Cairo, leaving Fermor alone to link up with the resistance, which he did. Knowing his comrades would try again soon, he knew he had to get to work, but not before a surprise was laid on him like a king size blanket…

Muller was gone.

In his place, another General, named Heinrich Kreipe, had been assigned. Fermor decided with the operation underway, Kreipe would be just as good as any other. He disguised himself as a shepard once more and joined another S.O.E. agent already on the island, Sandy Rendel, to begin collecting intelligence on the General’s movements. All the while, they listened on a radio for coded messages about when the next attempt to insert the team would happen.

For the next two months, three more attempts by air failed for one reason or another, before the air method was shelved and an insertion by boat happened to bring the group together at last. On April 4, Moss and the other two stepped off onto a dark beach and joined up with Fermor and Rendel to begin the final stages of the plan.

Moving to the village of Knossos, where Kreipe resided, they started observing the habits and routes he took. Ironically, their base of operations was in a residence right across from the General’s. It belonged to another Cretan S.O.E. agent, Michalis ‘Micky’ Akoumianakis.

Fermor first reconnoitered the area around the German headquarters to possibly enter it and perform the snatch, but determined it would be too difficult to pull off. Therefore, it was decided to stop the General’s car by setting up a checkpoint before he returned to his residence.

On the night of April 26, Fermor and Mallory changed into clothing disguising themselves as corporals in the German Army’s military police and set up on an isolated part of road for the moment. Right on time, the General’s vehicle appeared and the men flagged it to a stop. Approaching the driver’s side, Moss brought a cosh down against the chauffeurs head, knocking him out, as Fermor pulled a pistol on the General. The startled man said nothing as the driver was pulled from the car and Fermor took the wheel, with Moss climbing in next to Kreipe. The car turned around and headed off toward the capitol of Heraklion.

For the next hour and a half, they passed through 22 checkpoints with no difficulty before Fermor decided to abandon the car and split up. He left documents behind stating that this was an all-British operation and that the Cretan people were not involved.

Moss, along with the General, joined up with the rest of the team and began moving across the mountains for the next 2 1/2, weeks as German patrols scoured the land for any trace of the captors. Sleeping in caves and always on the edge of discovery, the team managed to stay one step ahead until they rejoined with Fermor, still in the mountains.

General Kreipe in Heraklion, prior to his abduction.

Transiting over Mount Ida, the mythological birthplace of Zeus, Kreipe quoted a poem when he first saw the snow covered peak, to which Fermor replied with the rest. He later stated both, “Had drunk at the same fountains of learning.” After an exhausting trek, the group descended near the town of Rodakino on the southern side of the island. On the night of May 14, the same boat that had originally brought the rest of the team in broached the sand a final time, and the men, with their prize, boarded and sped into the darkness back toward Egypt, where they arrived safely and began the interrogation of Kreipe.

Unknown to them, once word got out that the General had been kidnapped, the mood back at a German officer’s mess hall became almost jovial. A staff officer was reported to have said, “Well gentleman, I think this calls for champagne all round.” It seems Kreipe was disliked by many under his command, particularly when he objected to being stopped at checkpoints who complied with his orders about making sure of documentation. This explained the ease at which Fermor and Moss were able to get through the capitol, as no one dared draw the General’s ire. More importantly, the documents Fermor left convinced the Germans not to carry out reprisals.

Kreipe's car in British museum — Kreipe’s car in British museum

Soon, Kreipe was turned over to become a POW while their captors departed for other missions for S.O.E. After the war, Moss decided to write a book about the operation, titled ‘Ill Met By Moonlight,’ seeing it published in 1950. Using a quote from Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ the book was adapted into a movie of the same name in 1957. Kreipe met his captors once again on a TV show in the early 70s. He held no hard feelings and said he was always well-treated. It might also have been a blessing in disguise, for, once the war ended, Greece executed two of his fellow Generals.

FG42: Ahead Of Its Time And Forgotten

In 1941, the German Luftwaffe, just as the Army, began to see the need to develop a weapon to take the place of the bolt action rifle and the gun. But, whereas the Army sought to develop a new cartridge along with their weapons, the Luftwaffe chose to stay with the standard full-sized 7.92 mm X 57 mm rifle round to meet a requirement for long-range capability and to enable the weapon to act as a light machine gun. What resulted was the most unique and advanced combat arm to see action in the Second World War. And yet, one that few people have ever heard of.

In the beginning, the Luftwaffe wanted a rifle that could be carried by their paratroopers instead of landing separately in containers. Up until then the MP-38/40 submachine guns and pistols were the only small arms their parachute configurations would allow a safe jump with.

The specification, known as LC-6, called for a design that weighed approximately the same as the bolt action K 98, but shorter, to where it was not to exceed 39.4 inches. It was to be select fire, firing single shots from a closed bolt for better accuracy, and open bolt for automatic fire at 900 rpm enabling better cooling. Magazines were to be detachable, holding from 10 to 20 rounds. A scope mount was desired, along with folding front and rear backup iron sights that could be used by sighting underneath the optic. Finally, the weapon needed to be able to fire the full inventory of rifle grenades.

Anyone reading over the specifications could tell it would be a tall order for any manufacturer to achieve, but several did and, even though the road was paved with lots of redesigns and malfunctions, a working weapon emerged ready to be sent down the pipeline. It was type designated FallschirmJaeger Gewehr 42, or FG42. Informally as production improvements were made, the term ‘Model 1’ was added.

The gun looked space-age for its day. Operating by a long stroke piston method, it was 37.2 inches long, and weighed 9.3 pounds empty. It had a large baffled muzzle break attached to the end of the barrel intended to tame recoil, though with automatic fire using a full size cartridge its effect remained marginal at best.

To further help controllability, it incorporated a straight-line layout, meaning the buttstock was level with the bore to help minimize muzzle rise. Atop its receiver was a detachable scope of either the ZFG or ZF-41 series, while attached and riding below the barrel was a folding bipod. Ammunition was fed from the right side in a box magazine and perhaps the most unusual feature of all was its firing grip which was sharply angled like no other weapon during the conflict.

In early 1943, Rhienmettal-Borsig began production of the first 2,000 for combat testing, until another company, Heinrich Kriegoff, took over after Rheinmettal proved incapable of mass production. Paratroopers generally favored the design and used it in its first famous combat action during the glider assault in the mountains at Gran Sasso, Italy to rescue deposed dictator Benito Mussolini from a partisan group. Subsequent photographs show paratroopers carrying the weapon which, strangely, never fired a shot during the action, nor did any other firearm. The next few months saw it deployed in small numbers in Italy, until its most famous battle at Monte Cassino.

From January 17 to May 18, 1944 a group of paratroopers, many of them armed with the FG42, fought a cycle of vicious battles from the ruins of an old monastery atop a hill called Monte Cassino, which overlooked a solitary road which led to Rome. Despite withering battles to dislodge them, the Paratroopers held their ground and only gave it up when ordered to evacuate. The FG42 gave a good account of itself as more new models of the 2nd and 3rd editions arrived, featuring small refinements such as an increase in weight to 10.9 pounds, reduction in cyclic rate to750rpm and a standard shaped grip.

The next widespread use of the FG42 was in the hedgerow battles and fighting retreat from Normandy after the D-Day invasion in June. It remained in combat wherever the dwindling numbers of paratroopers were employed, right up to Germany’s surrender on May 7, 1945.

Surrendered examples were looked upon with curiosity by the Allies, who tested them to learn about their salient qualities. The United States for example, made a prototype called the T44 belt-fed light machine gun, and used a few of its features for coming designs, such as the M60. Apart from that, the weapon quickly faded into history, mainly because it was expensive and never intended to fill a requirement beyond the airborne forces. In all, only about 7,000 rolled off the production line.

A special weapon intended for special men, the few in private hands today command a premium of tens of thousands of dollars when they (rarely) come up for sale. Museums hold the handfuls other specimens, giving curious onlookers a glimpse at one of the most remarkable weapons ever made, forever just a footnote in the world of combat arms.

Remembering Simon Fraser, The Lord Lovat

Fans of the World War II film, The Longest Day, will remember the scene in which a group of British soldiers come ashore being ushered on by bagpipes. Leading them was a gentleman wearing a white pullover sweater, portrayed by actor Peter Lawford. Though not mentioned in the film, his name was Simon Fraser, a Brigadier in the British Commandos better known by his official title, The Lord Lovat.

Simon Christopher Joseph Fraser was born on July 9, 1911 in Beufort Castle, Inverness, Scotland. Due to his family’s lineage to the Clan Fraser, he was destined to become its 15th Lord Lovat, and 25th Chief of the Clan.

As Fraser grew up, it was clear from an early age that he possessed the traits of a leader. Studious and hard working, during his education at Ampleforth College he joined the Officer Training Corps and furthered it at Magdalen College, Oxford University, as a member of the Cavalry Squadron. Upon graduation, he decided to make the armed forces a career and received commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Lovat Scouts, a Territorial Army unit, in 1930.

Fraser served in the Scouts for one year before leaving for the regular army. Just a year later, in 1932, he officially succeeded his father as the 15th Lord Lovat at the age of 21, and continued his service five more years before resigning his commission as a Lieutenant in 1937, and transferring to the Reserves.

In summer 1939, with Germany gearing up for the invasion of Poland, a worried Britain activated her Reserves for the foreseeable future. Somewhere among these was Lovat, mobilized as a Captain, again assigned to the Lovat Scouts, and after war broke out in September, a man who found himself, like thousands of others, waiting on orders for transfer to the continent.

For the next year, though, Lovat could only watch in horror as the Nazi war machine rolled up the continent in record time. By the Summer of 1940, with France having fallen and German aircraft putting pressure on the British Isles, Lovat became one of the first to volunteer for a highly elite group of men tasked with the most dangerous missions.

The Commandos.

Lovat passed training, received assignment to the No. 4 group, and finally went into action on March 3, 1941 taking part in the raid on Norway’s Lofoten Islands. The mission sank 11 ships, destroyed fish-oil tanks and captured codebooks and parts for the ENIGMA encryption machine. 216 German troops were also captured, and 315 Norwegians offered to join the Commandos heading back to Britain. The amazing thing about the whole affair was that not a single shot had been fired, nor a casualty inflicted, on the Commandos.

On the night of April 22, Lovat, temporarily promoted to Major, headed across the English Channel leading 100 men of No. 4, as well as 50 others from Canada’s Carlton and York Regiment, for a reconnaissance against the coastal village of Hardelot, in Northern France.

The unit came under heavy fire shortly after they landed, but Lovat calmly directed his men against the German positions, which caused them to withdraw. Over the next two hours, they gathered what intelligence they could and withdrew, wading out to boats under the ghostly pall of a smoke screen as searchlights probed for them. Again, no casualties were suffered during the operation, in part due to Lovat’s guidance.

He received the Military Cross for his actions, which noted in the citation: “I consider the fact that this operation was carried out with complete success and practically without loss to our troops was largely due to the leadership and control of Major The Lord Lovat.”

The next raid Lovat and his men participated in came on August 19, 1942 on the beaches near Dieppe, France. Promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and commander of all of No. 4 group, he ensured that they played a vital role as part of Operation Jubilee. The operation was an attempt to test invasion techniques by seizing a port for a period and destroying nearby installations.

It was also to placate Joseph Stalin, who insisted that the Western Allies do something to show they were serious about opening a second front. Unfortunately, faulty intelligence and perhaps a tip off from a double agent turned a good idea into a bloody shambles, with heavy losses and few successes.

Lovat provided one of these successes by leading his men to destroy six 150mm howitzers before they were ordered back into the sea. Most got away and back to Britain, unlike thousands of others, mostly Canadians, who were killed or captured. Lovat was again praised for his clear thinking in a bad situation, and the Distinguished Service Order was later awarded to him, one of the few bright spots to come out of the embarrassing affair.

Lovat’s next mission placed him forever in the history books. Now a Brigadier, and in charge of a new unit of Commandos, the 1st Special Service Brigade, he landed with them at Sword beach on June 6, 1944. Someone instantly recognizable for a white pullover sweater under his jacket, he ordered piper Bill Millin, against regulations, to play the bagpipes as they waded ashore. Therefore, the dirge echoed over the waves and across the beaches as his men trudged for the sand, to the look of surprise and bewilderment from regular Army units as they marched past.

Their objective was to reach Benouville Bridge, over the Orne River, the first vital piece of real estate taken on D-Day by 6th Airborne Paratroopers, and relieve them. Over British and German dead and along roads and fields, he moved his unit as fast as he could, arriving just after 1 P.M., a little over an hour later than expected. He apologized for being late and ordered his unit to set up defensive positions around nearby Ranville. They held the Germans off until the 3rd Infantry division relieved them, then they began battling along the river against more counterattacks, always successfully fending them off.

On June 12, Lovat was observing the battle of Breville, located on a watershed between the Orne and Dives rivers, when an artillery shell hit nearby, killing two officers and severely wounding him and another. He was evacuated shortly thereafter back to Britain, where the seriousness of his wounds and the longevity needed to recover meant he was out of the war.

In 1945, he was offered the position of Captain of the Honorable Corps of Gentlemen-at-Arms in the House of Lords by Winston Churchill. Lovat politely declined, instead entering politics as Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, which he kept until Churchill’s defeat just a few months later.

In 1946, he was made Commander of the Venerable Order of Saint John, and stayed in the Army reserves until his retirement in 1962.

Lord Lovat on the right and in the water, coming ashore on Sword Beach, June 6, 1944

Lovat’s life became turbulent afterwards. Continuing in local politics and running the family’s estates and their 250,000 acres of land, he suffered the death of two sons just months apart, and eventually fell into financial ruin. So bad was it that Beufort Castle, his birthplace and residence before and after the war, ended up being sold just a year before his death on March 16, 1995 at age 83. In a fitting tribute, Bill Millen played the bagpipes at his funeral.

lovat2 — Actor Peter Lawford on the right, portraying Lord Lovat in the ‘Longest Day.’

Despite all the hardships he may have suffered in his golden years, none of them could ever erase the fact that The Lord Lovat lived life to the fullest measure. A leader’s leader, he will always be remembered as both a hero and inspiration.

Station IX: A Place Of Invention For The Dark Arts

Situated in southern England, near the town of Welwyn, lies a stately mansion known as the “Frythe.” During the Second World War, this once-private residence became home to Station IX, a research and development center created by Great Britain’s Special Operations Executive (S.O.E.), an organization responsible for running agents and supplying resistance movements behind enemy lines in both the European and Pacific theaters of operation. A highly secretive and valuable site, the residence employed scientists and engineers to come up with innovative, even devious, devices to aid Allied and other sympathetic forces against the Axis.

Its origins began in August, 1939, when the Frythe, then serving as a hotel, was taken over by Military Intelligence. Needing a special section for clandestine warfare, Professor D.M Newitt received appointment as Chief of Scientific Research and recruited several engineers to design and experiment in the many workshops and laboratories being built on the grounds behind the mansion.

After a thorough selection, the employees and their pencils arrived and began charting formulas and tracing diagrams, always under military guidance. On the radios and in the papers they heard or read about the speedy advances of German forces over the coming months. And when the debacle at Dunkirk, in May 1940, drove Britain from the continent, they realized their country was alone and on the verge of invasion.

On July 19, 1940, with eyes watching the sky as the Battle of Britain raged, British intelligence formed the Special Operations Executive and appointed Major John Dolphin, himself a scientist, to command work at the Frythe, now designated as Station IX. Here, Dolphin, like the other civilians under his authority, received a military rank for his job, and work continued around the clock.

The primary areas of interest were explosives, camouflage, chemical and biological warfare and technical sabotage. But Station IX did much more and quickly materialized as sort of a ‘Q’ branch, to use James Bond terminology, to supply equipment or weapons for specific tasks. As an interesting fact, they decided to name most of their creations using the first three letters of Welwyn.

Throughout the months, as the invasion threat receded from Britain and S.O.E. agents infiltrated into Europe, the workshops and laboratories tested, discarded and retested formulas, machines and weapons for their usage. From behind closed doors, all sorts of devices emerged for transport to testing grounds under a constant heavy guard by armed security that lasted until the war’s end.

Here are some of the most well-known.

The Welbike, a Dolphin invention, emerged in 1942. Designed to fit into a parachute canister, it weighed just 71 pounds, sped along at 30 miles per hour, and had a remarkable 90 mile range. Over a year’s time, 3,641 were produced, seeing use with British ground forces at Anzio and Normandy before its intended operators, the Airborne, used them in small numbers during Operation Market Garden, in Holland. Some S.O.E. agents are also known to have used them, though sparingly, due to their locations.

Other machines focused on water. 1941’s Welman Midget Submarine, for example, was 20 feet long and carried a 425 pound Torpex high explosive warhead that the craft’s pilot maneuvered to affix to a warships hull. The concept sounded promising and 100 were made. However, a mission that first used them ended in failure and further use was denied as being too risky.

The Welfreighter came next. Looking like a 37-foot-long motorboat, it too was actually a midget submarine that in addition to a two man crew, could carry four agents or equipment. The craft could submerge when necessary to affix explosive charges or lay mines. Appearing in prototype form in 1942, it went through several design alterations and by the time it entered service in late 1944, its well-trained crews were no longer needed for European operations. Plans then switched to the Pacific and Z unit, Australia’s version of S.O.E., trialed a few, but like the rest of the 100 built, they never saw action.

A Motorized Submersible Canoe (MSC), nicknamed “Sleeping Beauty,” was 12 feet long and air-droppable, and allowed a single frogman to transport 9 limpet mines to targets up to 40 miles in distance. Scheduled for use in Operation Rimau, the Australian raid against Japanese ships in Singapore harbor, it was decided to use collapsible canoes instead. Nonetheless, “Sleeping Beauty” saw influence beyond the war as a basis for the modern Swimmer Delivery Vehicle.

'Sleeping Beauty' Motorized Submersible Canoe (MSC) — ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Motorized Submersible Canoe (MSC)

The Welbum. This device featured a motorized container for agents dropped into water. Worn on the back, it propelled the operator up to two miles at 2mph.

The last two machines were the creations of Major Hugh Reeves, who established himself as one of Station IX’s best employees. Reeves designed the Sleeve gun, a silenced tube containing a .32 caliber round that an agent could keep up a shirt or jacket sleeve. When needed, one simply whipped it where it could be grasped, flicked a switch similar to that of a flashlight, fired, and slid it away to go about their business.

In concert with the Sleeve gun, he designed the Welrod silenced pistol, of which approximately 2,800 were made, starting in early 1943. This firearm became Station IX’s most famous and influential product.

Agents and resistance forces went on to use the Welrod silenced pistol worldwide to great effect, killing many enemy soldiers with either the .32 or 9mm variants, and lauding its near-silent operation, which was crucial in many circumstances. Magazine-fed with six .32 or eight 9mm rounds, this manually loaded weapon was appreciated just as much after 1945, when British Special Forces continued using it in hot spots right up through the 1982 Falkland’s War.

Reeves continued working for Station IX right up to the last shots of World War II. Four months later in January 1946, S.O.E. disbanded and Station IX closed down. An uneasy and temporary peace settled over the globe, and though recognized for their contributions, Reeves, Dolphin and most of the other brains of Station IX headed back in their prewar careers of designing products for the civilian market place. Each took great pride in the fact that despite turbulent times, they gave their all for the King.

The FP-45 Liberator: Gimmick Or Good Idea?

The Liberator pistol has to rank as one of the most unusual firearms ever designed. First conceived as a way to equip resistance forces in World War II, today most reside behind glass at museums or in the hands of collectors. Fame ultimately escaped it, but it’s safe to say it served its purpose despite no records existing of it ever being used, mainly because the recipients were too busy moving, or fighting to stay alive.

Its concept began in March 1942, when a Polish military attaché suggested a simple, effective pistol that could be mass-produced and air -dropped by the hundreds or thousands to waiting insurgents. The thought was that so many weapons delivered at once could instantly arm practically everybody in a local guerrilla group. Plus, it would do wonders for morale if everybody carried a weapon, and it would have a detrimental effect on occupying troops who might be led to believe that there was now a way for populations to massively resist them.

The U.S. Army’s Joint Psychological Warfare Committee accepted the proposal, and two months later George Hyde of General Motors Inland Manufacturing Division produced a design that met the specifications. To ensure its secrecy, it was given the designation Flare Projector-45 to conceal its real function.

GM’s Guide Lamp division was assigned the contract, and in 11 weeks with 300 workers, they assembled a million guns. Those who looked at the contraption had to imagine these were some sort of last-ditch device intended for one time use. They were right.

Intended for people who may not be familiar with firearms, the Liberator was simplicity in itself. Of 45 caliber, 5.5 inches long and weighing one pound, it featured 23 stamped steel parts for a total cost of $2.40 per gun. Five rounds could be stored in the grip, which did not feed into the barrel. To do this, one manually inserted a .45 caliber cartridge at the rear, and then the chamber was hand-closed by a metal part. The round was then shot down a 4-inch, unrifled barrel for an effective range of 25 feet. To clear the empty case, a wooden dowel was supplied to push it out the back and another round could be loaded.

In reality, the range was wishful thinking. This gun was intended to be placed against a person to be killed so their weapon could be taken. It could then be discarded, passed on or saved for a final stand.

FP-45 Model 2 Right-rear view of the open action

Liberators were packed in boxes that included 10 rounds of .45 ammunition, the wooded dowel and a comic strip type instruction sheet. A million shipped off to both Great Britain and the Pacific, where they were stored and ready to be loaded into containers on aircraft. There they met their greatest obstacles, the General Staffs of the United States Army.

In Europe, Eisenhower’s men saw no practical purpose for the gun and only 25,000 were dropped to the French resistance. In the Pacific, Macarthur was also sour about the idea and the Army ended up turning the remaining lot over to the Office of Strategic Service to be dropped in both theaters when necessary.

Small drops commenced in 1943 over Europe, while that same year 100,000 ended up being sent to China and smaller numbers dropped in the Philippines. In 1944, another European drop occurred in Greece to supply a few thousand to the resistance. By this time, it had a nickname derived from its cheap looks: The ‘Woolworth’ Gun.

How many were actually used will never be known, but it is safe to say some Axis soldiers met their end with the Liberator, as well as having their weapon stolen. There was never an attempt to round them up after the war, figuring most had been thrown away by then. Those that remained, the still hundreds of thousands of unused copies in warehouses, were melted down. Today, the Liberator is written about sparingly as its success is unknown. Its new life is that of a collectible, with excellent specimens in original box complete with accessories fetching up to $2,000 or more.

The Heckler & Koch MP7: A Stinger For The Good Guys

In 1989, NATO published a set of requirements that requested a new type of firearm with rounds capable of penetrating body armor. Called the Personal Defense weapon, or PDW, it was meant to replace weapons, such as pistols and submachine guns, whose caliber was found wanting against ballistic protection. Several companies went on to design PDWs, with the most successful, if not the most visible version, coming from German arms company Heckler & Koch.

Designated the MP7, it was first displayed in 1999, with H&K officially beginning production of the weapon in 2000. The MP7 is a compact firearm that uses polymers extensively in its construction, and a short 7.1 inch barrel that helps keep the weight at 4.1 pounds. For ease of carry, a sliding stock provides a length of 25.1 inches extended and 16.3 inches closed. Iron sights for back up compliment mounting rails for sights, lights and lasers, etc., atop the length of the receiver and both sides of the forearm. A front grip that folds under the forearm is also standard.

Internally, its operation is based on the short stroke piston design of the G36 assault rifle, another H&K offering, and helps ensure that the round, which is unique to this weapon, functions reliably. And it is this round which may be the most intriguing part of the MP7.

Featuring a cartridge that measures a diminutive 4.6x30mm, first impressions might lead one to dismiss it as insufficient. Nonetheless, looks can be deceiving, and in this case keep in mind it is meant to defeat body armor. In this role, it is successful.

There are three types of rounds in widespread use. All feature specially designed penetration abilities, which range from the standard DM11, a 31 grain copper plated solid steel AP projectile; the DM21, a 46 grain steel jacketed lead core FMJ round; to the improved DM31 grain copper washed steel jacketed solid steel AP round. These can penetrate several layers of woven Kevlar fabric, with the DM11 traveling at a muzzle velocity of 2,362 fps able to pass through 20 layers backed by a 1.6mm titanium plate at 200 meters.

The cartridge fits in box magazines that come in 20, 30 or 40 round sizes. The 20 round is the same size of a 15 round 9mm magazine and the 40 is the same size of a 30 round 9mm. These insert into the pistol grip of the weapon and are reminiscent of the famous Uzi SMG.

Events after September 11, 2001 sent the MP7 into the field and it became an instant hit. Through the years, numerous worldwide Special Forces and police units adopted it, one of the most famous being the U.S Navy’s DEVGRU, better known as Seal Team 6. The weapon has seen use in Iraq, Afghanistan, and likely numerous classified operations during the War on Terror.

In 2003, H&K improved upon the design and a new version appeared called the MP7A1. This is the variant produced today, and features a redesigned pistol grip, stock and integral trigger safety like those found on Glock pistols.

As of 2014, military and police units of 17 nations employ the MP7 and MP7A1. Without a doubt, it is one of the most popular PDWs in the world today, with its closest competitor being the Fabrique National P90 in 5.7x28mm. FN’s PDW holds the lead in adoptions due in part to a 10 year head start in production. Regardless of this, it is not unreasonable to expect H&K’s weapon to close the gap in the coming years.

The Paramarines

The Marine Raiders were some of the best-known specialized units that fought in the Pacific during World War II. They, along with Army units such as Merrill’s Marauders, carved a name for themselves in a part of the world where the terrain and weather often proved as formidable as the Japanese. Despite the obstacles though, these men rose to prominence and their names are still mentioned today on the lips of historians.

Nevertheless, there was one other unit just as deserving of praise, and of which few ever heard. It was a group just as elite as those mentioned, and possessed the same toughness, courage, and fighting ability through some of the most notable campaigns of the war. Even so, time has largely forgotten them because they were never used as they should have been. In addition, many in authority felt at different times that they were simply not needed.

This unit was the Paramarines, or, United States Marine Paratroopers.

In pre-war America during 1940, calls went out for unmarried Marine volunteers for a specialized unit to be dropped from planes. From the start, it was made clear that they would not be similar to Army paratroopers; rather, they would be more of an elite unit for unique and risky tasks similar to what the United States Army Rangers would later perform in Europe.

With the promise of much better pay, more intensive training and a certain prestige, there was no shortage of volunteers. Once they formed up and begin training in New Jersey in October, it was immediately clear that they had signed up for a 16-week living hell of physical and mental hardship beyond what most could imagine.

In addition to jumping out of planes, they were worked and hounded beyond exhaustion, pushed beyond known human limits to be rewarded with even more. For this, 40% of the volunteers dropped from the course before completing it. Those who did manage to stand on the parade ground had wings pinned on their chests and became part of the 1st Marine Parachute Battalion. In December, the second group followed, with the third coming on line in February, 1941.

Moving ahead 18 months, once the U.S. began its long offensive in the Pacific, the Paramarines found themselves a part of the first actions, when the 1st Battalion was attached to the 1st Marine Division during the invasion of Guadalcanal, which began on August 7, 1942. That same day, the unit bloodied itself when it landed by boat to seize the nearby island of Gavutu, then aided other units in taking another island called Tanambango.

A few days later, the unit began fighting alongside the infantry on Guadalcanal as the campaign deteriorated into a slugfest. The Paramarines aided Colonel Merritt Edson in conducting a landing on the north shore of the island to raid the village of Tasimboko, where ammunition, medical and food stockpiles of the Japanese force were found.

More important was a treasure trove of documents that helped determine the size and positions of enemy forces. This windfall better prepared the marine force when they resisted a major Japanese push toward the island’s all-important airfield in a battle to hold Hill 123, later renamed Edson’s Ridge. Here, over two brutal nights from September 12-14, waves of Japanese were repulsed with the Paramarines joining the infantry in stopping the greatest threat the force would face in saving the island. When it was over, the Japanese had suffered over 1,300 killed and wounded, with Marines losing around 260.

The Paramarines continued the fight until the island was finally secured on February 8, 1943, and the Solomon’s campaign turned its focus on moving up the chain to the largest island, Bougainville. In October 1943, the 2nd Battalion conducted a diversionary raid on Choiseul Island, starting on October 28, 1943, which was intended to make the Japanese think it would be the main focus before any landing on Bougainville began. Over the next five days, the unit killed 143 Japanese and sank two barges, at a loss of 14 killed to witness the main landings commence on November 1, at Empress Bay, Bougainville.

An interesting side note – during the diversion, 50 Paramarines were ambushed on November 2, resulting in three wounded. They ended up being evacuated from Choiseul by PT-59, commanded by LTJG John F. Kennedy.

As the Bougainville invasion progressed, all three Battalions of Paramarines fought alongside each other for the first time, being attached to the 1st Marine Amphibious Corps. Always on the front lines, they suffered as much as their infantry brethren, but the elite nature of their training caused them to push on when others halted for rest.

Once again, the Paramarines were there when the end came, this time with the Japanese being beaten and finally isolated on a remote part of the island until the end of the war. The Paramarines could chalk up another major success on their short combat resume, something all were committed to making longer.

Yet, something was missing. As impressive as their record had been up to that point, the three battalions, who soon became known as the 1st Marine Parachute Regiment, knew they were being under-utilized and under-appreciated. Commanders longed for and requested the time when they would make their first combat jump and truly separate themselves from the infantry.

Sadly, it would never happen. There were not enough transport aircraft available and those coming off the assembly lines saw the Army getting the bulk of them, as their Airborne units were division-sized and had much bigger plans. The Paramarines, good as they were in concept, were destined to be disbanded along with their more famous brothers, the Raiders, on February 29, 1944 and incorporated into existing infantry divisions.

Though gone forever as a unit, the Paramarines legacy did live on in notable individuals. Sergeant Henry Hanson, a member of the first flag raising on Iwo Jima, once wore the wings, as did Corporal Harlon Block and Private First Class Ira Hayes, of the more famous second raising.

Of the 81 Medals of Honor awarded to Marines during the war, 5 were former Paramarines and all received it for actions on Iwo Jima. A fitting tribute for perhaps the most underrated American unit of the war.

Showdown At Mirbat: A Castle, Some Desert, Rebels, and the S.A.S.

By 1972, Oman’s Dhofar Rebellion was entering its tenth year. The rebellion was originally begun by a frustrated tribal leader who wanted to overthrow the repressive Sultan, Said bin Taimur. First known as the Dhofar Liberation Front, the rebellion had grown and progressed into an insurgency with strong communist ties by the late 1960s, and renamed itself the Popular Front for the liberation of Occupied Arabian Gulf, or PFLOAG.

Surprisingly, the movement found a main part of its goals realized on July 23, 1970 when, in an almost bloodless coup, the Sultan’s son, Qaboos, deposed him and offered numerous modernization programs and amnesty to all who had opposed his father. PFLOAG refused, still wanting to install a communist government and to keep territory it had already conquered. In other words, the rebellion would continue until victory, and gave Oman’s new ruler, knowing that his army was weak, little recourse except to call upon the country’s strongest ally, Great Britain.

Both countries knew PFLOAG was a threat, not only to Oman’s stability, but also to its flow of oil to the rest of the world. So, within hours of the coup, British forces, including members of the elite Special Air Service, were touching down – not to fight, but to provide support in four key areas essential in hopes to quell the insurgency.

1. Wage a ‘hearts and minds’ campaign.

2. Gather intelligence

3. Provide medical assistance

4. Provide veterinary assistance (Crucial to Oman’s primitive society, which was still largely dependent on animals not only for food, but transportation.)

As is so often the case in insurgencies were countries send personnel to train allies, shortly thereafter, the British found themselves fighting, with the S.A.S. leading many of the operations.

Away from the headlines, Great Britain assisted Oman for the next two years in holding back the tide of insurgency by using the S.A.S. in small and quick operations, along with Oman’s army, to bleed PFLOAG (known locally as Adoo) as much as possible without committing conventional forces. Such a course kept the war off the front page of the British papers for the most part, keeping public opinion apathetic and focused on other issues.

That was, until July 19, 1972, when almost two years to the day that the Sultan was overthrown, Britain’s elite found themselves in a situation most of the combatants had only read about in history books. It would involve a castle, a handful of S.A.S., some allied soldiers, and hundreds of rebels determined to turn it into the Alamo of the Persian Gulf.

Mirbat Castle is a square multi-story structure which, in 1972, sat adjacent to and was part of a series of sandbagged trenches, firepits, barracks, latrine and a team room known as the British Army Training Team (BATT) house. The BATT house was run by nine S.A.S., with Captain Mike Kealy in charge. The entire base covered several hundred meters and was girded by barbed wire, which reached to the nearby Mirbat bay. For support, they counted on an additional 40 Omani and Pakistani soldiers, and used the base to conduct operations and guard the approach to the Port of Mirbat, vital to Oman’s economy and an important objective of PFLOAG.

In the early morning hours of July 19, approximately 400 PFLOAG rebels, intending to push toward the port, quietly approached the wire in several “V” formations and prepared to attack. Once spotted, the alarm sounded. The eight resident S.A.S. and the Omani/Pakistani forces ran to their positions. Weapons locked and loaded, the call came to hold fire. Captain Kealy first thought it was Omani soldiers stationed on the nearby slopes returning from night patrol. But a closer look through the binoculars revealed that none wore uniforms and most were armed with AK-47s – a gift from the communists.

Kealy ordered the men to open fire. Self Loading Rifles (British version of the FN FAL) barked and a lone .50 caliber added its much deeper chug to the din. Staff Sergeant Bob Bennett coordinated the mortars, which coughed as fast as rounds could be dropped. Somehow, the fire which felled many did little to break the waves of rebels. They were still beyond the SLR’s range, and the .50 and mortar weren’t bleeding them much. As the range closed, Kealy and others moved to the roof of the BATT house and watched the ineffectiveness of their response with grave concern, as the rebels spread out to surround them and try to breach the wire.

Enemy mortar shells then started landing near the BATT house. While the SLRs continued to pick at the rebels in return, they began firing their AKs. The base became almost circled by a ring of blazing small arms. Kealy requested communications with S.A.S. headquarters and urged reinforcements sent immediately. He knew that, until they arrived, there was going to be one hell of a battle.

Amid the firing, S.A.S. Sergeant Talaiasi Labalaba, of Fijian descent, saw the rebels breach near the castle and a World War II 25 pounder howitzer sitting unused nearby. He instantly made a mad dash for the weapon as bullets nipped around him. Reaching it, he sighted on the coming waves, loaded a round and began firing. Normally, it takes six men to operate such a gun, but the tough Sergeant did it solo, cranking off at least one shell per minute, which smashed and felled droves of rebels when his accurate fire impacted.

A few minutes later, the Sergeant was nicked in the face by a bullet, found a radio and notified Kealy of his injury. Another trooper, Fijian Sekonaia Takavesi, volunteered to go help and ran 800 meters through whizzing bullets to reach the gun. He fired back at the rolling wave of rebels with his rifle, then realizing the enemy was moving ‘danger close,’ ran to the castle to get more help.

Inside, Omanis fired their small arms furiously while Takavesi managed to find one man, Whalid Khamis, to come with him. Both ran under fire for the howitzer, only to have Khamis fall to the ground wounded, an AK bullet in his belly. But the man got up again and moved alongside, firing his rifle.

The wounded Labalaba and Takavesi sighted down the barrel of the howitzer again and fired it point blank into an oncoming gaggle of rebels. It slowed them a few seconds and Labalaba ran for an unmanned 60mm mortar sitting in a pit. Another AK round found its mark and the brave man fell dead, blood spurting from the neck. Takavesi then took a round through the stomach but propped his rifle on a sandbag and continued to return fire.

As the whole base fought desperately to kill the waves, now less than 50 meters away in some areas, a request for air support was sent, while Kealy and S.A.S. trooper Tommy Tobin made a run for the howitzer. After they, too, narrowly avoided getting hit, they reached the gun when several grenades were hurled toward them. One rolled to a stop at Kealy’s feet but failed to detonate. Another went off in a trench and injured no one. The remainder failed to go off as well.

Kealy and Tobin stood unfazed firing the howitzer while Takavesi and Khamis fired with rifles, the combined fire driving more back as the waves appeared to stall and the fight became almost pointblank to within a few meters from the sandbags. In a brief respite, Tobin tried to reach Labalaba, but a bullet blasted through his jaw and another hit near his spine, causing him to fall to the ground cupping his mouth in pain as blood spurted between his fingers.

The rebels were even worse off. Beyond the sandbags, dozens lay dead and even more writhed from wounds. Kealy was too busy for numbers, because in just a few moments he heard the most wonderful sound. Jet engines. The sounds grew louder as three Omani StrikeMaster light attack jets flown by British pilots swooped under an overcast sky and began strafing and rocketing the broken lines of rebels that lay prone, still firing at the base. Brown spurts of sand erupted around the perimeter for the next thirty minutes until they departed, out of ammo.

Sensing a last opportunity, the rebel commander ordered what was left of his force near the howitzer to rush. The remaining S.A.S watched in horror hundreds of meters away as another “V” formation of rebels got up and ran towards Kealy’s position.

Then came the Captain’s voice over the radio. He wanted mortars to drop rounds just outside his position, fully aware that if they were off by a little, he and the others would be obliterated and the rebels would enter the trenches.

Under Bennett’s guidance, several rounds shot from the tubes exploded just outside the sandbags, bowling several enemy over and disrupting the charge. So close were the hits that dirt showered Kealy and the others. He rose to see the rebels falling back, most running in ones and twos to disappear over the dunes.

Soon the S.A.S. G Squadron arrived by helicopter to reinforce and began driving off the remainder of the PFLOAG, now just a ragged remnant, which joined what was left of their group still running over the dunes. Behind them lay over a hundred of their dead and a similar number wounded. Their only consolation was that PFLOAG had managed to press the attack for nearly six hours.

A call came to cease fire and Kealy tended his two wounded until help arrived, when he headed back to check on other casualties. He knew that Labalaba was dead and Tobin and Takavesi were badly wounded, with one Omani killed and one wounded. That was the extent. They had successfully repulsed what many of the S.A.S. vets who survived it would call the “Twentieth Century’s Rorke’s Drift,” in reference to a famous battle where a small number of Brits overcame staggering odds to triumph in the end.

Kealy saw Tobin lift off in the chopper, still alive, only to die a few days later in England from his wounds. Despite the mourning to come, the S.A.S. had saved their base and the port. Never would either be taken by the rebels who ultimately were defeated a few years later.

Recognition came for the heroes of Mirbat three years later. Kealy was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his actions, and Takavesi was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal. Staff Sergeant Bob Bennett was awarded the Military Medal, while Labalaba received an honorary Mention in the Dispatches. Whalid Khamis received the Sultan’s Gallantry Medal, Oman’s highest award.

The event was initially downplayed by the British government, who did not want to reveal the extent of the nation’s involvement. Later years have seen survivors speaking out and campaigning to get Kealy and Labalaba awarded the nation’s highest decoration, the Victoria Cross.

Corporal Roger Cole is one of those. He was in the battle, and said without mincing words and in true gritty fashion, “If the rebels had reached that howitzer, we were fucked.”

It’s time Kealy and Labalaba get their due.

The CETME/G3 Battle Rifle

As the world fell apart around them, German industry from aircraft to small arms raced against time to produce something, anything that might permit the Third Reich to last a little longer. Most of these efforts failed miserably, while others were too farfetched to ever become reality.

And yet, in spite of this, there were a few tiny samples of innovation that might have worked if given enough time. Fortunately, for the world and freedom itself, time ran out on one of history’s most evil regimes, and victors exploited the workable technologies to further the goals of their nations.

In the case of small arms one of these of course was the adoption of the German assault rifle concept by the Soviet Union, which arrived in the form of the AK-47. History has shown that this was one area in which the Soviets started out with a lead, as the Western allies still clung to full power cartridge ideas that would see them through the coming decades.

Most of their postwar prototypes bore this out with three battle rifle designs emerging to counter the AK: the FN FAL produced by Belgium’s Fabrique Nationale, proved the most popular; the M14 produced by the Springfield Armory in the United States which had a short career and was overtaken by the M-16; and a Spanish/ German design which became the second most popular design after the FAL and helped represent most of the free world. The CETME/G3.

This rifle that ended up flourishing in post-war conflicts ultimately came about after Mauser technicians during the war designed a prototype assault rifle, called the Gerat 06. Unlike the famous MP44 Sturmgewehr already on the battlefields, the Gerat 06 was designed to be less expensive, just as reliable and easier to produce. As such, one look showed it had none of the smooth curves of the MP44, save for its magazine, which used the same 7.92x33mm intermediate cartridge.

Downright homely to the point of being crude, it used a different operating system, which was taken from the MG42 light machine gun, called short recoil/delayed blowback, but used a fixed barrel with a piston rod similar to the MP44. A further refinement found the rod could be dispensed with and permit using the roller locking bolt alone. After the war, the system, with evolving prototypes, was perfected further by designers Ludwig Vorgrimler and Theodor Loffler until 1950, when Vorgrimler, who by then lived in Spain and worked for the arms manufacturer CETME, finalized a weapon designated the Modelo 2, which used a proprietary 7x92x40mm round.

The design drew the attention of West Germany’s Border Guards, who wanted to equip its forces with the new rifle. One requirement though, was that it be rechambered for the 7.62x51mm round which had been pushed by the U.S. and adopted by NATO. So the CETME was produced with chamber that was identical to the NATO, round but featured another proprietary load, which was later abandoned. Heckler and Koch then got into the act and provided input, further modifying the rifle into the Model B, which featured improved ergonomics, and was at last accepted into service in 1958 by the Spanish Army as the Modelo 1958.

Strangely, at the time it was the only country to adopt the CETME design, for a deal with West Germany’s Border Guards fell through and they ended up adopting the FAL. Thankfully, all was not lost, for the West German Army took interest and held trials pitting the CETME against the American AR-10 and Switzerland’s SiG SG 510. After it won, the CETME was accepted into service and type classified as the Gewehr (rifle), or G3, in January 1959. Upon adoption, H&K and Rheinmettall were tasked with production, but only after they negotiated rights from the Dutch firm NWM, who held production rights outside Spain. Upon concluding this, the G3 began rolling off the assembly lines and filling the stock rooms and soldiers arms of the West German Army.

Proving itself a design of note, many other countries soon took interest in the weapon, testing and adopting it as their standard battle rifle. as well. From 1958 through the 1980s, some 40 countries would outfit their armies with the G3 and, like the FAL, cause it to see combat on every continent.

For western audiences, it could be seen on the evening news in the early 1980s as the weapon of the El Salvadoran military during battles with communist FMLN. and in the Iran-Iraq war as the main rifle of the Iranian army. Currently, the G3 is in use by the Mexican army, battling with drug cartels, where undoubtedly, many a bad guy continues to be ventilated by the G3.

Over its history, the G3’s basic shape has remained unaltered and most improvements have been aesthetic. A true war-winner, only in the 1990s with increased popularity of 5.56mm assault rifles has it seen its numbers dwindle. Even the first nations who claimed it, Spain and Germany, have moved on. Regardless of this, it can be expected that the G3 will still be found patrolling streets, jungles and deserts for many more years to come.